


Last Edition

by schneefink



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers up to #167, last wishes, planned murder of a ghost, references to more murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schneefink/pseuds/schneefink
Summary: Gertrude and Mary have one last conversation.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Last Edition

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Mad_Maudlin and Gina3 for the help.

She should have burned the book immediately. Not doing so was the kind of foolish risk she'd scold others for, the kind of risk she didn't usually take. 

And yet she waited.

When Mary finally manifested, it looked like shadowy air simply receded to reveal where she'd stood all along. 

"Gertrude!" Mary said with a smile. 

Gertrude put aside the book she'd been fruitlessly attempting to read. "Mary. You've looked better." Baldness and writing on every inch of skin were not particularly noteworthy, considering the monsters Gertrude had encountered, but it was still disconcerting to see the changes on a person she knew. 

Mary laughed. "So have you, Gertrude. You look old. Is the job getting to you? It has been a while since we saw each other last." She looked around the bare cellar and then focused on the book in its cage on the table next to Gertrude. "Ah. Planning to burn me, are you? I thought this day might come."

"I didn't think it would be a surprise." If anything, she should have done it sooner.

"Do you really think I burn so easily? I made arrangements, you know."

Gertrude nodded towards the cage, where Mary's book lay on a pile of dry paper and wood. Next to the book in the pile stood a small grey candle. "Not easily, no. But I've come prepared."

"Is that one of Agnes' candles?" 

"How do you know?" Gertrude asked, more sharply than she'd intended. She wasn't aware that Mary and Agnes had ever met, though it was no surprise that Mary knew of her. 

"I suspected." Mary looked satisfied. "I knew that you two were working together when Agnes burned Emma for you."

Gertrude clenched her jaw.

Mary noticed and smiled. "Go on, ask me! I know you want to know how I know. Call it curiosity, Archivist. I want to know what it feels like." 

"You just want me to ask because you know I hate it," Gertrude said and then immediately wished she hadn't. 

"That too, of course. Seeing as you're planning to burn me, you'll have to forgive me if I'm not at my most charitable."

"You've never been charitable in your life."

Mary shrugged.

As much as Gertrude hated to give Mary the satisfaction, she wanted to know the answer even more. Mary wouldn't be able to enjoy her gloating for long anyway. It only took a moment to channel the burning desire to know that had become ever stronger since she started working at the Institute. _"How did you know that Agnes burned Emma for me?"_

"I didn't," Mary promptly said, and she looked triumphant even as the Eye forced more words from her. "I suspected. Honestly, it wasn't that hard to figure out. You always had a blind spot where Emma was concerned. I've never understood it… It was quite obvious what she was doing with Fiona, and later with Sarah. If it wasn't for me, I'm sure she would have used Eric too. Emma always tried to stay out of my way. I'm fairly certain she knew what happened to Eric – I'm sure he's told you by now, I gave him to you practically gift-wrapped and you could never resist a mystery like that. But if Fiona had told you, then I would have told you about her, and she couldn't have that. You know, I think she might have actually cared about you. I know Eric told her how to leave, but she decided to stay instead. Or maybe it was just that the Eye's hold on her was too strong for her to contemplate leaving. 

As for Agnes, I knew you had some kind of connection with her. The cult of the Lightless Flame knew about it, and under the right circumstances they were positively chatty. But none of them knew the exact details either, just that the two of you were bound together somehow and that meant that Agnes couldn't fulfil her purpose. Can't say I was sorry about that, I don't think I would have enjoyed Agnes burning the world down. I'd love to know how you did it. 

When I heard that Emma burned to death, and in a manner that practically screamed of the Desolation – at first, I didn't suspect you at all. Gertrude Robinson, allying with one of the Powers she had fought for so long? It seemed so very unlikely. 

When there were no signs of retaliation after Sarah's and Emma's deaths, however, I began to wonder. I remembered how relentless you were when you thought that some monster had taken Eric, but this time I heard nothing about any attacks on the Cult of the Lightless Flame. 

I have to admit, I too underestimated you back then. You put on such a good act, even I believed that you'd grown old, resigned to simply collecting statements and perhaps occasionally arranging things from a distance. I really should have known better.

Agnes died not long afterwards, and I wondered briefly if you had anything to do with that. But if that was the case, I don't think anything could have stopped the Cult from burning down the Archives. I heard that some of them tried anyway, but none succeeded, of course. I've always admired how much you scare them, though at first I didn't understand it.

It wasn't until I died that I heard more about the things you've done. Not being alive comes with certain advantages, and I suddenly had access to sources of information that were previously too dangerous to use. I was very impressed, I really must say. I didn't think you'd go quite this far."

"That's enough," Gertrude said sharply. She noticed that she'd started to lean forward slightly while listening and sat up straight again. 

"You know, I've always wished we could have worked together more often. We could have accomplished great things." Mary sounded almost wistful. The entire time she was talking she had not looked away and barely moved.

Eric was right: she did look like a shark. 

"There was that minor obstacle where you kept murdering people," Gertrude said dryly. 

"Oh, are you admitting that you knew about that, now? I thought you must have suspected. Though I did wonder, when you believed me about Eric so easily… Besides, I'm sure you've killed far more people than I have. Don't pretend to be squeamish now. I know you tell yourself it's for a good reason, but so did I."

That was typical for Mary. A minute ago she'd admitted to being glad that Gertrude had stopped the world from ending, and now she compared Gertrude's work to her own selfish and desperate grasps for power.

It would be a mistake to answer or even react. Gertrude knew why she did what she did, and there was no place for self-doubt. Besides, Mary was the last person she'd have to justify herself to.

"And then there are all the people forever reliving their worst nightmares every time they sleep. Feeding your patron every night because they thought you could help them. You know, I always kept an eye out for stories you might like. You meet so many interesting people in my business. I even sent a few of them to your Institute."

"Do you expect me to thank you for that." 

"Oh, no. I'm just making a point." Mary was still smiling. "I do regret it's come to this–" 

Gertrude snorted. "I'm sure you do."

"So tell me, Gertrude. You haven't burned me yet, so there must be something you want. What is it? Do you want to know how to use the book?"

"Between what you and Gerard told me, I'm sure I can figure it out." The police records had also been quite extensive.

"So you've met my Gerard!" Mary sounded almost fond. Gertrude had expected anger that Gerard handed her book over, but she could see no trace of it. "How strongly did you have to compel him, for him to tell you everything?"

"Not very much." Those who were desperate to unburden themselves only ever needed a tiny nudge. "He seems quite eager to be rid of you."

"Oh, he's tried to run away plenty of times. He always comes back. Don't judge me, Gertrude. None of the young men that were in your care are going to come back, are they?"

"And whose fault was that?" Gertrude snapped. 

"Yours, of course. I heard about what happened to Michael. And even Eric never would have left if he'd thought he could trust you." She laughed. "Oh, don't pretend you're so sad about poor Eric now. You didn't even realize he'd left the Institute months before he died. I was expecting you to come looking for him much sooner, but you were quite busy. There's no need to blame yourself, Gertrude – I don't think it would have made a difference, in the end. We'll never know for sure, of course."

Mary was watching her closely. Gertrude kept still.

"I don't know how much he's told you. He didn't like you very much by the time he quit, but I know that death can come with a certain shift of perspective. I didn't need him anymore, and I found it amusing to let you know that there is a way out. Though I'm not at all surprised that you still have your sight. You were never entirely happy at the Institute, but cutting ties is easier said than done, especially when it requires something so drastic. It's so much easier to sacrifice others than yourself, isn't it…"

"You would know."

"Certainly, but at least I admit it. I was never as much of a hypocrite as you are." When Gertrude didn't react to that, Mary clapped her hands together. "But enough of that! You seem determined to make these my last moments, and it would be a shame to spend them fighting with you. What do you want?"

Gertrude had to take a deep breath before she could speak calmly again. "I want the book."

Mary raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the cage. "You have it."

"I'm going to burn your page. I promised Eric." Not literally, but Gerard certainly wouldn't be alright if his mother continued to haunt him. And she had promised Gerard. "But it might be useful to keep the book." 

"Ah," Mary nodded in satisfaction. "And you can't tear my page out, unless I let you."

"Yes. So I thought I'd ask you," Gertrude exhaled, "what you want. You always were in favor of your work living on, after all."

"Hm." Mary cocked her head. "That is true. Would you really risk it? I've bound myself to the book, not just one page."

"You tried," Gertrude corrected. "I don't think you succeeded. I guess we'll find out." 

"Yes. I think we can make a deal."

"Well? What do you want?"

"Look after my Gerard for me."

Gertrude raised her eyebrows. "I rather think he can look after himself." After all, he'd survived so far, despite being drawn into Mary's schemes and working against her at the same time. He must be at least somewhat capable, or else extraordinarily lucky.

"Well, then it won't be a lot of trouble for you! I know you're not the motherly type, but do give it a try."

When Gertrude had said the same to Eric, Eric had said that she could hardly do worse than Mary. She'd agreed to Eric's demand, but considering that Gerard had been haunted by Mary's ghost for years, she hadn't done a very good job of it. 

There was a certain measure of humor in the fact that both Eric and Mary asked her to look after their son, though with different outcomes in mind. "Fine."

"Wonderful."

"You don't seem very concerned about your impending demise," Gertrude couldn't resist pointing out.

"You don't seem very concerned about it either, if you're keeping the book," Mary replied. "Maybe I'll return to haunt you! Besides." She grimaced faintly. "This state is… not entirely how I imagined it."

"Ah." 

"I do appreciate that you wanted to see me again, you know. I didn't think you were that sentimental. I really am touched."

"I told you. I want the book."

"Oh, don't pretend you couldn't have figured out some other way," Mary said dismissively. "You don't fool me, Gertrude. No, I think you wanted to know if I seem different. Apart from the obvious, of course, but the writing really couldn't be helped. Are you wondering if you could have prevented some of what I did, if only you'd paid closer attention? Possibly. But it's not just me you're wondering about, is it?"

Gertrude took a deep breath. "Stop talking." 

"I suppose you'll never know. You had her murdered instead of asking your questions."

Without looking away, Gertrude took the knife from the table.

Mary laughed. "So, then! Shall we see what's going to happen? Get on with it, Gertrude."

"Goodbye, Mary. I hope I will never see you again." 

This time, it was the truth.


End file.
